


one damned purpose in this cursed life

by fearlessansa



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: :(, F/M, I mean is this sickness even possible? we'll never know, incest obviously, many things here don't make any sense, theon is only mentioned in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22875640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearlessansa/pseuds/fearlessansa
Summary: Sansa has caught a very dangerous sickness.Jon comes back home and finds that the chances of losing her are high.He can't let that happen.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 15
Kudos: 115





	one damned purpose in this cursed life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [k0skareeves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/k0skareeves/gifts), [willowycreature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowycreature/gifts).



> This is very short but I needed to write something. I was inspired by a quote from my favourite series, Penny Dreadful. The quote (not exactly as it is in the original, but still) is highlighted.
> 
> Two things: I haven't published something I've written in a very, very long time and English is not my mother language so expect all kinds of mistakes.
> 
> Dedicated to Gabi, Anni and Mani.

_Two years into the reign of Queen Sansa, a sickness spread over her castle. Winter was about to end, but its characteristic cold and snowy weather was still present and it affected the defenses of many people, especially those who worked the land and spent most of their days outside. The queen, in hopes that this would pass soon, had the Great Hall cleared and turned into a place where the affected could be treated by her Maester. She spent her days helping where she could, even if she was advised to stay away._

_It turned out that this sickness started with the symptoms of the common cold, only to take a terrible turn that involved cold fevers and seizures until all the energy was drained from one's body and falling asleep in the last, most critical days, could mean never waking up. The Maester consulted his knowledge and his books and finally found a remedy, but by the time he did, there had been a considerable number of deaths and the Queen in the North was already bedridden._

The night Jon Snow returned to Winterfell there was a storm raging through. His clothes were soaking and dirty and Ghost's white fur was covered in rain and mud. A stable boy took care of his horse; the poor animal was exhausted of galloping at highest speed possible. He had made his way home faster than usual, taking no stops save for the ones to let his horse rest; and not even those had been too long. As soon as he had received the raven from Arya informing him of the worst possible news, he had set off from the Wall.

The doors of the Great Hall opened with such a force, it startled the sick and those who were tending to them. The former King in the North walked through them, barely acknowledging their existence. No one dared to come close, his look of desperate worry and urgency stopped them from doing so. After all, they knew the reason for his presence. _The white wolf_ , a woman whispered. And he seemed like a wolf indeed, his teeth unconsciously bared as he took determined strides towards the Queen's bedside.

Her chambers were guarded by two men in leather armour, the Stark sigil proudly stamped on their chests. _They look terrified_ , Jon thought. Of course, they think their queen is dying. They stepped aside to let him pass, obviously recognizing him somehow. Or maybe they were just shit guards. He didn't ask, there was no time for such trifles.

A whimper reached his ears as he opened the door and the image that was revealed to him was one he would not forget for years. Brienne of Tarth forcefully held Sansa against the bed; the sworn sword looked distressed as she tried to stop Sansa from shaking while the Maester attempted to shove some sort of medicine inside her mouth. Arya stood by the window, frozen. When their eyes met, Jon saw the tears and his first instinct was to cross the room and embrace her. “I don't want to lose her.” His little sister sobbed into his ear and for a moment she sounded just like the child she had once been.

“You won't.” They watched together as she slowly recovered the calm in her body. The shaking had ceased, but she was pale and her lips were a dreadful shade of blue. Jon's heart ached at such ghostly appearance.

“She's barely awake, but we must keep her this way. We can't let her sleep for too long or she might...” The Maester -Wolkan, Jon remembered- gulped; a shadow fell over his face and he didn't have to finish the sentence, everything was clear. “The next few hours are critical, she needs to stay in all her consciousness while the medicine takes effect... If she survives tonight then we can expect a slow but sure recovery.” Silence. No one knew what to do or say, presented with this bone-chilling information. The Maester bowed his head and left the room, his chains clacking in the silent corridor until they could be heard no more.

Arya rushed to Sansa's side again, anguish spread all over her face. “You need to stay here, alright? For all of us.” She squeezed her older sister's hand hard enough for her to slowly regain consciousness. A weak groan came out of the queen's mouth. Then she scanned the room little by little until she found him.

“Jon...” Her throat was audibly dry but there was also a frail sense of desperation in the tone she used. She looked at Arya and tried to force a smile. Then she lifted a hand and waved it towards the door. Brienne, who was now standing by the foot of the bed, spoke for the first time since Jon had arrived. “Your Grace... Do you wish to be alone?” She sounded reluctant. The woman had always been very protective of Sansa and it was only natural that in this situation she wouldn't want to leave her.

With the little strength she had left, the queen pointed at her sworn sword and her sister and then towards the door. At any another moment, she wouldn't have been so forward; at any other moment, her actions would have come off as rude. Brienne's deep blue eyes darted from the bed to Jon and then back to the bed. She nodded her head. Arya caressed her sister's forehead one more time and both women made their way out.

Jon stood there for a moment, hesitation taking over his mind and body. She was staring and it made him feel like his clothes were being set on fire. _Guilt_. After everything they had been through together, he couldn't even look her in the eye.

“Sit.” Even in the state she was in, her command was clear. He obeyed and took the seat Arya had occupied before. He could picture her sitting there ever since Sansa had fallen ill, spending nights and days tending to her. To his mind came the picture of Catelyn Stark sitting by Bran's bedside, but he shook it off quickly. “I'm dying.”

“No.” His boots were covered in mud, almost dry now; he couldn't stop looking at them. He heard her struggling to breathe in enough air to form another sentence and his own lungs ached at the sound.

“Under my pillow.” Jon finally lifted his head, a visible frown in his features. He stole a quick look at her before sliding his hand carefully under the pillow. No colour on her face, not even that faint blush her cheeks used to have; her cheekbones and most of the bone structure of her face were now even more prominent; in her eyes, there was a glow missing. His fingers reached a piece of paper. It was folded in a messy way but he knew it had been her, probably in a rush, maybe trying not to be caught. But why? “Open.” His answer came right away. And for the first time since his arrival their eyes met.

“Sansa...” The handwriting was sloppy but there was no doubt it was hers, he knew it. He knew her. “I can't do this.”

“You must.”

“There is no need for this, you will not die.”

“I'm so tired.” Her eyes fluttered for a moment and threatened to close. _We can't let her sleep for too long. If she survives tonight..._ Jon took her hand and shook it, starting her awake again.

“I don't care if you are, stay with me.” He took another look at the paper and winced. “This is nonsense.”

_I, Sansa of House Stark, Queen in the North, declare that upon my death the crown shall pass to my cousin Jon of House Stark._

“It needs the seal. Make sure to...”

“I won't do such a thing.” The way her face transformed reminded him of that frightful night before the battle for Winterfell, of how they had argued and screamed at each other. She had looked so desperate that night, so frustrated with him; he had felt the same towards her. History repeating itself. Except for this time there was no screaming or panting, no furious blush across her cheeks. Only them and the candles.

“The North... will need you. Arya can't... Bran...”

He sighed loudly and stood from the chair, tossing the paper somewhere he did not care to look at. He started to pace around the room, but never too far from the bed. “I'm a Targaryen, they will not have me.”

“They will.” She turned her head to look at the canopy. “My word... You're a Stark.” _I don't deserve to be one._

“I'm so sorry, Sansa.” He returned to her side, but instead of taking the chair he sat on the bed. Hesitantly, he took her hand in his and grimaced at how cold her skin was. There was a barely noticeable tremble of her body even though the room was warm. “I never should have left. I never should have gone South. I did not ask to be king but if I could go back... you would still be the Lady of Winterfell. And we would have each other, Arya and Bran. No fire...” At this, Sansa's full attention was back on him. He was well aware that the words he was letting out had nothing to do with the present situation, but he needed to say them before-

“Past is past.”

He ignored her response. “I wanted to tell you. I did it all for us, for the North. I wanted to keep you safe. I never thought she would end up... I sensed something but I thought she could be better. That she wanted to be better. You were right all along.”

“But you loved her.” Her voice cracked and the sorrow she had buried came to light for a brief moment. It hurt him too, to hear her say that. It hurt him to think she had thought she had truly loved his aunt when in reality, his feelings had been so different. Different but yet too dark to let it be known.

“I cared for her. What happened between us, I did it for one reason... And then everything got out of hand. You must believe me. Gods, I was scared, Sansa. But I couldn't turn back and I thought it was for the best to shut my mouth and obey. To question her would have meant death for all of us.”

“I understand.” She didn't have to say names for him to know what she meant. If anyone knew of fear, if anyone knew of surviving, of living under constant threat, of sleeping with the enemy, it was her. And she had been so good at it, so strong, so much better than himself. Sometimes, after their reunion in Castle Black, after she told him everything, his mind would go back to the day they had left home. He remembered how hopeful she had looked, and his blood boiled at the thought of that little girl going through everything she had experienced. Maybe if he had broken his vows and rode to Robb's side, things would have been different. For all of them.

The grip of Sansa's hand suddenly felt too light and his heart skipped a beat when he looked up and saw her eyes shut. “Sansa...” She shook her gently. Nothing. He called her name and tried again, not that gentle this time. Nothing. She was breathing, that was clear by the way her covers slightly moved up and down. But if she couldn't wake up...

Jon Snow had seen death many times. He had seen it on his brothers of the Night's Watch, he had seen the hollow look on Janos Slynt's eyes after he had cut his head, he had seen it on wildlings too. He had witnessed death through tears in his eyes as he held Ygritte's body in his arms, hopeless and heartbroken. He had killed animals, men, even children. Olly's face still appeared in his nightmares from time to time, along with Daenerys' deranged and confused eyes as he pierced her skin and flesh with a dagger. And himself... well, he had the scars on his chest to remind him. With time, he had gotten used to it, and he had thought he wasn't scared of death anymore. Until now.

In a surge of desperation, he yanked the furs away from her and kneeled on the bed, using his legs to hold the weight of her body when he hauled her up and forced her to sit. “Sansa.” This time, her name was almost a scream.

“Let me go.” Barely open blue eyes bore into his and he let out a growl that could have well been Ghost's.

“Listen to me now!” He grabbed her shoulders with a force that turned his knuckles white. **“You will not die while I live, I will not let you surrender. If I have one damned purpose in this cursed life the gods have given me it's that.”** A lonely tear made its way down her face and only then he realized he was weeping.

He took her into his arms and embraced her like many years before when he had found a reason to live and she a shelter from the cruel world she had come to know. The kiss of fire in her hair reminded him of nights in front of the hearth of his chambers, cleaning the blade of his sword while she sewed and hummed to herself -and to me, he wanted to think-, Ghost comfortably sitting by her feet. It had always been her who had come to him, _just to spend some time before we go to sleep_ , but he never denied her and he knew, had she not come, he would have gone looking for her. Those had been his most treasured moments, when they thought the Others were the only great threat to defeat. Jon had even dared to hope he'd defeat them with the Northern army alone, and the Vale, that he would come back unscratched and she would be waiting. She would see him and run to his arms and they'd never part again. How foolish of a man his age to daydream. How foolish to think life would stop being so wicked after everything they had been through. How dark and twisted to expect his sister to stay forever by his side the way he wanted her to.

They held each other for a long while. Sometimes he would shake her a little and she would claw at his back to let him know she was there, awake. Alive still. He then gently put her back on the bed, but when he tried to go and sit on the chair, she grabbed his arm. No word was said and still, he took off his boots and laid beside her. She snuggled closer to him and he brought her to his chest. His heart had never beaten so fast. "I didn't love her. I have never loved another." He whispered.

If she heard, she didn't show any sign.

“Remember that time Robb and I scared you in the crypts?”

Jon didn't stop talking until the sun shone through the window and the birds chirped outside. The queen had been awake the whole night. She only fell asleep later, mid-morning, after the Maester had checked on her -he was beaming with joy and relief- and informed that she was out of danger now. Arya had jumped on the bed and left kisses all over her sister's face; ever since they had reunited, Jon had never seen her act so openly affectionate with anyone. He was sure he saw tears in Brienne of Tarth's eyes too, but she would never admit it. The maids of the castle all stood in the doorway, trying to catch a glimpse of the very much alive Queen in the North, and they looked at Jon like he was some sort of hero.

A few days after, he caught a rumour about how he had passed some of his magic onto his cousin, saving her.

“Magic?” he heard a very curious cook ask another.

“Yes, after his resurrection he gained those powers.”

He could only laugh. 

* * *

Sometime later, he was sitting before the weirwood tree, contemplating what to do now he wasn't needed anymore. Would he be able to say goodbye and go North again?

He heard familiar steps approach him slowly and turned around. Sansa Stark's cheeks were pink with the cold, a wonderful contrast to the snow-white colour her face had taken during her illness. Her hair was styled in a way that reminded him of her mother, but her eyes were warm and gentle towards him. There was no sign of the torment she had gone through only weeks before.

“Feeling better?” the smile could be heard in his voice.

“Yes... I figured it was time to come out of the castle and the Maester advised it.” She took a seat next to him and they stayed in comfortable silence for a few minutes. He wondered if she remembered anything from that night they almost lost her. As he turned to ask, he caught a glimpse of a shiny brooch close to her heart, right beside the Stark wolf that adorned her dress. He looked closely and found it was a small, silver Kraken.

“Oh.” Jon wanted to slap himself for even daring to open his mouth. _I should have just ignored it._

“It's my way of keeping him close,” Sansa said; she didn't need to look down to know what he had seen. “There are many things I never got to tell him. And sometimes I wish he was here to confide him my secrets... I know he wouldn't judge me.” She avoided his eyes; there was shame in hers and a blush on her cheeks that definitely had nothing to do with the weather. Of course, Jon thought. He had seen Theon and Sansa interact, he had heard the way his voice was full with emotion when he asked for her that time in Dragonstone, and he had been witness to her joy when he came back to fight for Winterfell and her gloom when he had died. It had never occured to him...

“You loved him.” He hid his bitterness very well, or so he thought.

“He saved my life. Sometimes when bad memories come back to me, I sit here and talk to him. I know it's silly but this is the place where he died...”

“I'm sorry you lost him. I know he loved you too. Although a marriage between the two of you would have angered many lords, I think.”

Sansa snorted with laughter and started him. When he turned his gaze to her, she had the biggest smile on her face; she was even showing her teeth and her eyes were pure disbelief.

“Not that way, Jon. It was a different kind of love. We had a deep bond, too strange to put it into words, but it is not what you think.” She took his hand and, even under the leather of their gloves, he felt her warmth. Two pairs of eyes met and he stopped breathing for a brief moment. Here, under the cover of red leaves that matched her hair, he came to the realization that he would never be able to leave home again. He couldn't say goodbye, not to her, not for a third time. The Queen in the North had always been great at masking her emotions, but this time she didn't even try. Before he knew what hit him, she spoke again. _“I have never loved another.”_


End file.
